CHAPTER VI 



Carthagena, October 30. 



Alicante has a picturesque but somewhat tumble-down 

 ortress. 



There are some Americans aboard, one of whom charac- 

 terised the above-mentioned citadel as " rather a high old 

 hill." 



We v/ent ashore, ate figs and grapes in the market, 

 climbed the high old hill, and saw a noble panorama of 

 yellow, jagged, oriental-looking mountains. 



There is another steamer lying off here ; the engineers 

 are, of course, Britons in both. 



A voice over the blue waters — "Jim, my lad, can't you 

 come aboard here ? " 



Answer — " Ain't got no time to dav." 



"Blow yer, you never ain't got no time; if you'll come 

 aboord, I'll give yer a drop of blazing good gin." I made 

 acquaintance with one of our engineers, giving him a pipe 

 of British shag tobacco, which went to his heart, and 

 awakened all the fragrant memories of his long-deserted 

 home. He was a broad beefy man from Glasgow ; had 

 settled his family in Barcelona ; the little boy was at school 

 there, but his mother had taught him to read English. He 

 was a sharp lad, and he wanted to send him back to school 

 in England ; the little girl could read Spanish, but English 

 fairly puzzled her. 



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